


Serving Cybertronian

by Gunschute



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: a small trigger warning; paratroopers are constructed slaves, alternative universe, painfully alternative, the idea has formed way too far to not try and form a story out of it, will add more tags as they're fitting but they could be spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunschute/pseuds/Gunschute
Summary: [An extreme Bayverse alternative universe.]What happens when a gladiator tries to liberate a slave after growing tired of seeing them mistreated? Well, nothing fluffy or easy that's for sure.





	1. Downside

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so. I blame a song for this. I'll say which when we get further in to avoid spoilers but, going in you need to know a few things:
> 
> 1) It's an extreme Au that requires open-mindedness and not to be locked down to the films entirely.  
> 2) I can't guarantee complete in characterness for Megatron, but I've someone I'm bouncing it off of.  
> 3) Megatron is in his frame from The Last Knight solely because I like that one best and can do that.

There was one major downside with Megatron's… line of ‘work’. Fighting at an underground fight club to make money off the bets, the seats sold, the  _ show _ put on of two or more Cybertronians beating the shit out of each other.

And that's the fact that nobles came. Sick and twisted ones more often than not. Ones not against having  _ slaves _ . And it's almost surprising to note that they did in fact bring them to events. In some cases, even used them for more closed off bets not ran through the system.

A disgusted sneer found it's way to the silver mech’s faceplates as he watched a lingering noble backhand what was so painfully obviously his slave. Crimson optics avoiding the sight only until the mech went off.

He was blaming the poor thing for something that he didn't even  **_do_ ** , pissy about losing a bunch of bets that night. And the terror that morphed over the poor mech’s face was too much.

Heavy pede steps draw the Seeker’s attention, making the mech whirl around and open his mouth as if ready to go off on whoever dare approach. Probably expecting it to be someone sent to shoo them out now that almost everyone had left.

But instead, he appeared taken aback to come face-to-face with the ‘King of the Pit’. “Oh, it's you!” They sounded surprised, wings flicking almost uncomfortably.

“You shouldn't take your anger out on him.” Megatron's voice was smooth, calculated as he fixed the noble with a sharp glare. “It's not his fault you can't tell which mech can defeat who.”

That  _ immediately _ got a rise out of the Seeker, wings jolting up and anger overtaking their face, “ _ Excuse you _ ?” He prompted, gesturing to the mech beside him. “I'm sure even you're competent enough to know that a paratrooper is a slave. It's mine. And I'll do as I please.”

Megatron couldn't help himself. Arm lashing out and grasping the other by the throat with a crushing force, yanking the Seeker closer with a low growl. Noting just barely as the other mech flinched back and looked around as if for help.

Which only angered the silver mech more, “That gives you no right to treat  _ him _ like trash.” The Gladiator prompted, squeezing more even as the Seeker flailed.

“I will do as I  _ please _ , release me now, and I  _ won't  _ press charges.” The threat hardly phased Megatron, as he merely crushed the noble’s throat until they stopped squirming. Like he's done quite a few times before.

Only this time? There'd be repercussions, crimson optics looking to the paratrooper as his features soften, despite the fact he had to snatch the smaller silver and navy mech’s arm to keep him from racing off.

“Do not fret, I will not hurt you,” Optics follow the panicking mech’s azure optics to the now dead noble. “... and I just might have to ask a favour to keep both us safe now.”


	2. Blackmail

“So let me get this straight.” A white mech leaned forward, bright blue optics locked on the terrified paratrooper that had been brought before him— who was desperately clutching his arms around himself as if it'd help him any. “You want me to help you cover up you murdering some noble for his pet?”

Megatron growled faintly, shaking his helm and looking to the terrified mech that shied away from him, “I did it to free him. Not further enslave him.”

“ **Idiot** ,” The mech laughed, pushing himself up from his seat and handing an empty Energon cube off to a mech situated next to him. Stepping forward to circle around the paratrooper and look him over. Disregarding how obviously uncomfortable it made them.

“Please,” A word barely heard as the paratrooper stubbornly looked at the ground, “Ah want ta go _home_ …”

Stopping, the white mech chuckled lowly. Blue optics flicking to Megatron as the gladiator grimaced at the words. This really was working out to have been a bad move.

“ _Home_?” Echoing the word at the end of his chuckle, he gestured to Megatron, “He murdered your chance at that little one. But that's okay…”

A hum left the white mech, as he turned to Megatron completely now, “I'll hide the body same as I do our… accidents. And keep the paratrooper for myself, have his me—”

“ _No_ ,” Megatron cut him off sternly. Shifting closer to the paratrooper even though it put the small mech even more on edge. “You will not take him. You'd just enslave him.”

“They're _made_ to be slaves, you _do_ realize that right?” An exasperated sigh, as the mech turned from both of his guests. “I'd treat him better than whoever you killed. Do you want me to report this? He'd just end up under some random Cybertronian and you in _prison_.”

Megatron hardly seemed phased; instead crossing his arms. “Is that so? Where I can tell everyone about the little fight club you're running?”

Watching the white mech tense and slowly turn around had Megatron give a smug smirk. Crimson optics locked on the other's face to try and read them. Before the white mech glared at the paratrooper then relaxed with a dejected sigh.

“Fine, fine,” he relented, waving Megatron off as he made his way back to his seat. “But you're going to owe me; if you want to get anywhere with this his memory needs to be erased.”

“That is of no issue,” Slowly, Megatron turned his attention back to the smaller mech. “What will be harder is breaking that coding they put in paratroopers.”

A snort left the white mech as he sat down, eyeing both of the mechs before him over. “You're seriously going to try and liberate him? You're in for a lot of scrap, Megatron.”

He paused, before continuing, “After his memory is wiped I suggest you get him a paint change and figure out a story as to how you got him. I refuse to help beyond this.”

Arms uncross as the gladiator nodded, crimson optics fixing onto his boss. “That will do. Thank you. “

A grunt was offered in reply, as he motioned for the mech that was standing at his beck and call to go and guide the paratrooper off. They had someone around for memory removal on the off chance a snitch wormed their way in. “I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into.”


	3. Snipping Threads

Megatron had went with them. Followed after pretty much immediately; he wasn't a fan of the idea of subjecting the small mech to mnemosurgery— but even he knew it was the best move. And the only way Silverlining would  _ agree _ .

So instead of trying to speak out against it, sharp denta grit together before he urged the paratrooper onwards. Reassuring softly that it's okay when he had hesitated.

But, thankfully, he relented rather quickly. Likely not liking the idea of anymore trouble sparking from his lack of cooperation. Soon the three mechs enter into a room sectioned away from the main halls.

“Is this this slave I'm  _ reprogramming _ ?” A voice piped up— obviously they'd received a call ahead of time. A pale blue mech practically slid into the room, circling around the paratrooper in an almost predatory way.

“Only memory erasing.” Megatron clarified, a low warning in his tone. He didn't like the glint in the mnemosurgen’s optic. “Nothing more.”

At the clear threat, the pale mech pulled back with a joyfilled laugh, waving Megatron off as if he was some annoying child. “Of course, of course. Paratrooper, sit.”

A gesture towards one of the chairs in the room followed the command, and the paratrooper glanced around— azure optics settling momentarily on Megatron— before he slowly inched forwards and sat down. Coattails draping around the stool-like seat and twitching when they brushed the floor.

“What a good boy, and you're trying to free him I hear? A shame.” A taunt underlined the blue mech’s tone as he slipped behind the paratrooper. “Ah, hold still for me okay?”

Bright yellow optics flick up to make contact with crimson before the pale mech returned his focus back to the paratrooper. Fear and uncertainty radiating off the small mech’s field.

“Thread,” Megatron's voice caused the pale mech to pause, “Just remember; I'm watching.”

Yellow optics cut away, as if to think that over. Before needled digits find their way into the paratrooper's neck to do their job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to actually honestly do research for mnemosurgery because I only vaguely knew of it.


	4. Clean Slate

Azure optics power on, blinking in confusion as they meet with crimson ones that belonged to a giant silver mech. A squint forming across the paratrooper's facial plating before they glanced around, sitting up straight.

“... where am Ah…?” His voice was soft, optics flicking back to the larger mech, before settling onto the pale blue one who was seated off in the corner and watching him intently.

Crimson optics regarded Thread momentarily, before Megatron shifted his attention back to the small silver paratrooper. “A medbay,” Of sorts, but the gladiator felt no need to add that on, “You're safe here.”

“Ah…” Slowly, the paratrooper found their way to their pedes. Megatron sat back as crimson optics followed the silver and navy mech pace around slowly as they spoke, “Ah can't remember what… what happened?”

“That's alright. Don't stress,” Megatron advised; best to avoid filling them in, “Let's start little. What is your name?”

Pausing in his tracks, a look of annoyed confusion painted it's way along the paratrooper's face. And Thread laughed from where he'd been silently watching moments ago.

“He doesn't _have_ one. No surprise,” Hopping to his pedes, Thread made his way over to the paratrooper and clamped his servo on their shoulder, “Slaves don't usually get that luxury.”

“ _Slaves_?” The tone of the question leaving the paratrooper's mouth sounded disgusted, before azure optics stared at the floor. “Right, Ah think… Ah vaguely remember something ‘bout that.”

“That's _enough_ ,” Megatron stood up, waving Thread away with a servo as he focused on the paratrooper, “You can figure out one for yourself.”

Thread scoffed softly as he moved away, shrugging. “Sure, yeah, but you might want to get used to ‘slave’ anyways. With that telling frame of yours, you're going to hear it _a lot._ ”

The paratrooper immediately looked dejected, and even more lost as to what was going on. “Ah can… name myself? Ain't that against th’ rules..?”

Megatron fixed Thread with a nasty glare, voice raising to a warning growl, “Do you require anything else, or are you _finished_ with your _job_?”

Thread laughed, a nervous ring to it as he finally figured he'd pushed enough. Gesturing around the room, “Nope, I'm done. By all means. Stay as _long as you like_ in **my** lab.” With that, and a low grumble, the blue Cybertronian finally made his way out of the room.

Crimson optics watched as Thread left, before their attention shifted back down to the paratrooper standing before them. Locking onto bright azure optics filled with confusion and curiosity; prompting the gladiator to speak up.

“Ignore him, you're no longer a slave. I've freed you.”

“Why?” The question came in a small voice, that found some grounds with the next question; “What's _your_ name?”

Megatron offered the mech a pat to the shoulder, gesturing for them to follow him. “I am Megatron,” He began, pausing to make sure the other was following, “It's a bit of a story, perhaps I'll tell you later. But for now let's get you a new paint job to solidify the transition.”


	5. New Scheme

The gladiatorial pits being considered a place for entertainment means some of the Cybertronians that participated in fights got done up real nice. Some more than others. And there's a few that went with a different scheme every fight.

And for that very reason there was a skilled detailer in house. One who knew not only how to get the job done, but what combinations worked _best_.

Megatron slipped into the room, reaching out to silently halt the paratrooper that followed after him. Crimson optics settling on the vermillion mech that was evidently annoyed over the person he was fussing over.

“I won't do it. I _refuse_ to be the one who dares put those two colors _near_ each other. What are you going for? Trying to make your opponent too sick to fight you?” Scarlet orbs then catch sight of the two mechs standing at the entrance and he waved them in, “Don't be shy. Look around and find a color you like.”

The paratrooper glanced to Megatron— azure optics portraying uncertainty, which lead to Megatron gesturing further into the room. Towards the setup where a wide variety of colors were on display.

“Go on,” The gladiator urged, watching after the silver and navy mech as they finally edged over. Hanging back to not crowd the smaller mech as he himself moved towards the vermillion mech, “Knock Out.”

“Megatron,” A nod was spared towards the silver mech, before the detailer waved dismissively at the person who he was talking to earlier, “You; come back later. This is more important.”

It was met with grumbling from the purple mech— but they didn't bother arguing, instead rolling their optics and heading towards the entrance. Casting the navy accented mech a glance before the door shut in his face.

Knock Out turned, servos settling to his hips as scarlet orbs eye over the paratrooper who was very into looking at the variety of colors.

“ _Wow..._ I mean,” Knock Out’s voice dropped, left servo raising to gesture widely at the paratrooper as he looked to Megatron. “I thought they were _joking_ . As much as I don't like the idea of slaves either. That was _stupid_.”

Megatron finally looked away from the paratrooper— settling his attention fully to the smaller mech that was practically reprimanding him. “Spur of the moment.”

The vermilion mech shook his helm, arms slowly crossing over his chest, “You're an _idiot_ —” then his nose crinkled in disgust at the sight of the paratrooper wandering away from the less flashy colours. _Bad move_.

Distaste only furthering when the silver and navy mech finally halted, azure optics curiously looking over a small selection of greens.

Megatron noted the look on Knock Out’s face, turning back to the paratrooper and raising his voice, “Did you find something you like?”

The paratrooper paused, before turning to the other two in the room— then looking back to a vivid kelly green, “Ah think so?”

That was enough to prompt Knock Out to move forward, gesturing back towards the deep blues, “Are you sure you wouldn't like one of these better—”

“Knock Out.” Megatron cut in. While he understood part of why the mech was suggesting less flashy colors was so they wouldn't draw too much attention he _hated_ the idea of forcing them to not be true to themselves.

“... Ah dunno. Ah like this one.” A sharp digit is raised as the paratrooper tapped it to the bright green. Almost sounding like he doubted himself now.

“Very well,” Knock Out begrudged, scarlet optics flicking back to Megatron before settling on the paratrooper again, “Any secondary colors? Designs?”

The silver and navy mech looked down at himself. A frown in place at the idea of being so… _plain_ as just the green would leave him, “Black. Maybe… maybe somethin’ kinda like what Ah got already?”

“Actually…” Knock Out grinned a bit— more to himself than anything, “I think I've got the _perfect_ idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Knock Out insisted it'd be him so voila! Have a Bayverse Knock Out.


	6. Settling

Ever since Megatron showed the paratrooper to the second room he had they had refused to leave it. He wished he could be surprised by their actions, but he couldn't. And Megatron wasn't about to make matters worse by trying to force them out.

So he settled with occasionally checking up with them through the shut door that only opened when the gladiator dropped off Energon for the smaller mech. And even then that wasn't often.

It went on for a month.

Half way through the fourth week the newly green mech had decided to slowly emerge from his safe haven. Azure optics glancing about the small sort of apartment Megatron lived in. Noting how tidy and… _plain_ it was. And something about the lack of fancy devices and showy art eased the paratrooper. Perhaps the bad memories still clung in the deep recesses of his processor. A lingering preset opinion on certain situations.

Megatron perked up a bit as the smaller mech came into view, otherwise staying seated and rather still. Crimson optics eventually flicking back to the data pad he'd been browsing through earlier. 

“Everything alright?” The rumbling question from the gladiator finally drew the green mech's attention to the other in the room— caused them to shift weight between pedes in a sign of anstiness.

“Ah dunno…” They sounded so lost, prompting Megatron to look back up again with a faint quirk of an optic ridge. “Ah mean. Ah dunno wot Ah'm suppose ta even do..?”

“Whatever pleases you,” Megatron offered— though probably not a very helpful reply, which made the gladiator frown faintly as he set aside the data pad, “How about when you're ready, we go out together? You can look around. Get a feel for the city. Maybe figure out something you wish to do.”

Though, and Megatron didn't voice this, their options would likely be… _limited_ due to how others view their frametype. Perhaps reacting impulsively back there made everything more difficult. But Megatron wasn't about to second guess himself.

Slowly, the paratrooper nodded. Speaking up, “Ah think that might help… would that mean goin’ back ta that place?”

“The gladiatorial pits?” Megatron inquired, before shaking his helm. “No. Only if you wish to.”

Crimson optics watched the vivid green mech mull that over, their gaze casting around the decent sized room again as they moved further towards the middle.

Then the paratrooper's optics flick over to lock with Megatron's, “We can give it ah try.”


	7. The Pits

It was another week before the paratrooper was finally up for going out— early in the morning, when not too many people were on the streets. Sticking close to Megatron as their plating crawled with discomfort at the stares and whispers the pair brought.

Megatron had forewarned them about this, how the others would note a flashy paratrooper with someone like him and be curious. In some cases even down right suspicious. But the green mech wanted to get out.

They regretted it, hating the judgeful optics that eyed them over— the looks being near Megatron earned them both. They weren't  _ ready _ for that, and wasn't sure they ever would be.

But being cooped up? The paratrooper couldn't do that, a few days later suggesting Megatron take them back to the gladiatorial pits. It'd thus far been easier there.

And Megatron agreed. Bringing them along that night and settling them best he could in one of the rooms combatants prepared themselves. A TV hanging in the corner providing a stream of the current ongoings in the ring.

The few others in the room hardly paid the paratrooper mind, especially after receiving a glare from Megatron before the silver gladiator dismissed himself.

Alone for the first time that the paratrooper could remember while near other Cybertronians left the vivid green mech on edge. Azure optics glancing around anxiously only to watch the others look away when caught staring.

Soon, the paratrooper was able to relax enough to focus instead on the TV, squinting at the subtitles that ran along the bottom of it as they focused on the audio that rang quietly from the speakers— turned down so as not to disturb the mechs preparing for their own fights.

Three mechs stood in the ring— one he recognized from when he got his new paint job, despite the icy blue paint scheme they donned this time, and the paratrooper finally paid enough attention to note the frametype to be that of a fliers’. He was introduced with a flashy twirl of his claymore as ‘Rapid Fire’ by the announcer.

The other two he'd never seen before.

One of which was a large gold and orange quadruped wielding an equally as large axe— called out as ‘Crucible’ as he raised his weapon and let out a war cry.

And the final mech, red in color and dwarfed by the other two to the point of it seeming ludicrous. A beast-liked mask clamped over his face kept everything but the golden glow of his optics from being seen as he twirled his two blades, the crowd roaring out at the announcement of ‘Deadlock’. Seemed he was a fan favourite.

The fight commenced— the three mechs looking between each other, sizing each other up. The commenter rattling off as the paratrooper leaned forward in anticipation. Deadlock and Rapid Fire locked optics, prompting a curt nod from the red mech before Deadlock dashed forward— ducking under the swing from Crucible’s axe. Both blades striking out and colliding to one of the quadruped’s legs.

Crucible’s balance was off set as he reared back onto his hind legs to relieve the pain from putting pressure on the wounded leg, which allowed Rapid Fire to charge the other mech with his shoulder down and bowl him over.

It was hardly a second before Rapid Fire’s large claymore clashed loudly with both of Deadlock’s blades. The smaller mech pushing against Rapid Fire’s weapon with a surprising amount of strength.

Deadlock shoved himself back aggressively as Crucible’s axe slammed down between the two smaller mechs, the crowd cheering loudly at the near bloodshed. Which only increased in volume when Deadlock charged forward, launching himself over the axe  _ and _ Rapid Fire, lashing out with a sword to cut deep into the blue mech’s back and throw him to his knees.

The paratrooper was beyond impressed—  _ intrigued  _ even— at the skill the small mech possessed. Azure optics glued to the screen as they watched Deadlock evade the other two mechs, only to deliver his own hits. Soon being the last contestant standing, raising their swords to the air and prompting a roar out of the crowd.

And it was then the paratrooper decided they wanted to meet him. 


	8. What's in a Name?

When the paratrooper slipped out of the room Megatron had left them in, the other Cybertronians turned a blind eye. They didn't want trouble— and if the paratrooper was about to cause it they wanted no part.

The green mech paused as they cast azure optics around the large place, looking over the many other metal doors as the one behind him slid closed. They'd almost decided to turn back around when they caught the tail end of Deadlock entering a room further down the way.

Before they even registered it, the paratrooper was suddenly in front of the door to the room. Servo raising before they hesitated. It was probably best not to disturb the other mech, they didn't even know what they'd say to him.

The door sliding open startled the paratrooper, who stepped back at the sight of the golden optics peering out from the mask. Deadlock stood straight, well reserved. Watching the stranger before him.

“Can I help you?” He finally spoke up after a moment of dumbfounded silence from the green mech, as Deadlock waved a servo to welcome them inside.

“Uh,” the paratrooper started, glancing around before slipping their way into the room. Listening to the door slink shut behind them— which was all the signal Deadlock needed to turn back away to what he was doing previously.

“I'm sure you're capable of speaking,” Deadlock piped up, amusement betrayed in his tone as he raised one of his swords up from a table, running a cloth over it to clean it. “Surely you're here for a reason other than to gawk.”

“ _Right_ ,” they finally spoke up, an actual word as their arms cross tightly over their chest, optics looking around both in curiosity and to avoid optic contact, “Ah saw yer fight, was pretty cool.”

That brought a low chuckle from the red mech, who set his now clean sword back down in favour of turning to the paratrooper, “A lot of people seem to think so. It's great stress relief too.”

The paratrooper could feel the curious stare on them, tightening their arms more before looking over again. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. They should go before someone comes looking for them.

But then Deadlock moved forwards, offering a servo out to the vivid green mech, “You the paratrooper everyone's been talking about?”

Pausing, the paratrooper then slowly nodded. Reaching out and tentatively shaking the offered servo, “Probably. An’ yer Deadlock.”

“Well, in there I am.” the red mech then pulled away, turning and striding across the room. Reaching up to click the top of his helm off with a low hiss. Setting it down to one of a different color that was almost similar but only in the general idea. Deadlock swiftly replaced the removed helm with the dark blue one, frame shifting colors slowly to match it as he grasped a less threatening looking mask from the wall.

After removing the red and black one that could intimidate most opponents, the golden mask was clicked into place with practiced fluidity before he turned back around.

“But outside, I go by Drift," the golden optics were bright even surrounded by the mask of gold, "What shall I call you?" 

The paratrooper paused, processor flashing back to words the commentator had rattled off and latching on one. They'd never thought up a name yet!

"Crosshairs," the paratrooper finally quipped, before nodding slowly. Yeah... that'll work. For now.


	9. Wading Further

The name stuck. It only took hearing it a few times for the paratrooper to realize Crosshairs just felt  _ right _ .

So it's what they decided to keep it to. Megatron had seemed delighted to not have to refer to them as ‘paratrooper’ anymore. Along with any other creative dances around using a name he'd found.

Between Megatron and his new-found friendship with Drift, Crosshairs was able to learn more and more about the gladiatorial pits. Why most people willingly fought, if not just for the sake of beating the shit out of someone else (which Drift admitted was a huge part of why he did it).

But watching the fights on the TV wasn't nearly as satisfying as they imagined it would be in person. Unfortunately Megatron wasn't convinced it'd be the best idea for Crosshairs to join the cheering crowd, and they trusted his judgment enough not to do so. Even though they knew Megatron wouldn't stop them if they decided to.

Drift had just got out of a battle, frame still dawning that of ‘Deadlock’s look, entering into the emptied out readying room. Golden optics flicking up to take in the beginnings of the next battle, before lingering down to the seated form of Megatron.

“Teach meh ta fight,” Crosshairs spoke up from where they leaned against the wall, fixation on the TV shattered after Drift had slipped in. A clawed digit raised as the green mech pointed up towards the ongoing fight, “Ah wanna be able to do stuff like that.”

Megatron hardly seemed phased, but Drift shifted almost awkwardly on his pedes. As if deliberating how to put something. And then he found it, and spoke up.

“Not to fight in the gladiatorial pits I hope,” Drift's words made Megatron grunt, as the large gladiator leaned forward.

“Wait, why not?” Crosshairs inquired, armour deflating and clamping to his frame, “Ah mean, Ah wasn't exactly plannin’ on it but?”

“Though no longer a slave, many would question about whether a paratrooper is willing to fight,” the currently red mech informed in a calculated way, “If it’s questionable on whether or not everyone in the pit is fighting of their own accord, it could make people uncomfortable and cause issues.”

“Teach him,” Megatron finally piped in, pushing up to his pedes as the voice on the TV announced the winner of the match, “It wouldn't hurt for him to know some self defense.”


	10. Flaw

One of Drift's earlier concerns with training Crosshairs to fight made itself known pretty quickly. Due to the lack of having a weapon for the paratrooper, and it also being better to start with the basics, Drift offered they focus first on hand-to-hand combat.

Crosshairs proved a rather fast learner, easily picking up on the blocks Drift taught them— but when it came to counter attacks, or attacks in  _ general _ , Crosshairs’ punches pulled before they could make any contact.

It was confusing and  **frustrating** for the paratrooper who, after yet another pulled punch whirled around and slammed their fist into the wall instead.

“Wot th’  **_Pit_ ** ‘s wrong wit’ me?!” Crosshairs demanded, voice almost a growl as they thumped their helm to the wall they'd hit, “Why th’ Pit can't Ah jus’  _ hit _ ya?”

Drift watched, pausing in deliberation before offering up an answer, “When a paratrooper is made, they have a code implanted into them to keep them from being able to inflict harm onto another Cybertronian.”

Azure optics narrow at the wall as Crosshairs digested the information, before slamming their helm into the wall again, “Yer friggin’  _ kiddin’ _ meh…”

With that, Drift surged forwards— resting a servo to Crosshairs’ shoulder in an attempt to comfort them, as well as keep them from actually harming themself, “You don't always need to punch someone to win a fight, Crosshairs. You can use your surroundings to your advantage.”

That easily intrigued the paratrooper, azure optics settling to the currently blue colored mech as an optic ridge rose, “Th’ hell kinda nonsense is that?”

Drift nearly snorted as he tried not to laugh, shaking his helm as he released Crosshairs’ shoulder, “I will show you.”


	11. Surprise

Crosshairs ducked under Drift's swung punch— well aware of the lasting sting it packed behind a successful hit. Dodging to the side with a bit of a laugh. They were starting to get the hang of this whole fighting-but-not-really thing.

Jumping back from another attempt from Drift, the paratrooper flashed optics around their surroundings. The room was littered with all sorts of objects and obstacles to duck around and use to one's advantage. One of which Crosshairs had been itching to try out. 

They quickly verified their location in the room, and backed away, prompting Drift to follow. As Drift always did in these lessons for the time being. The paratrooper had to bite the inside of their lower cheek to keep from grinning— azure optics scanning over the triplechanger before them. 

It was only a few more steps before Crosshairs  _ dashed _ , leading to Drift quickly giving chase. Just as Crosshairs knew he would, considering the lessons.

Crosshairs was quick to dip around a large slab of metal that hung down by a chain, mildly swaying from the impact it’d had earlier when Crosshairs dodged a punch from Drift. Whirling around, Crosshairs kicked out hard— landing a harsh kick to the slab of metal and sending it hurtling towards the triplechanger.

The sound of metal on metal lead the paratrooper to leap back out of the way as the training equipment swung back towards them. Optics spotting Drift easily as he forced himself into a sitting position with a low groan. Any satisfaction Crosshairs had had at the initial hit immediately shriveled and they made a beeline towards their fallen friend.

“Oh  _ scrap _ ,” They hissed, dropping down beside the dented triplechanger with concern pulsating throughout their field, “Ah'm sorry, that was probably—”

“ _ Perfect _ ,” Drift cut them off, removing his servo from the large dent in his chest with a wince. The more malleable mask Drift donned at this time offered Crosshairs a grin, though with tells of pain, “This is  **_exactly_ ** what I was talking about. Using your surroundings to your advantage to aid against a foe your programming won't let you hit.”

Crosshairs looked sheepish, finding their way back to their pedes to offer Drift help up— help Drift gratefully took, swaying just momentarily after finding their footing, “Honestly Ah wasn't sure it was gonna work out that well.”

The admittance got a laugh out of Drift, though he too was rather surprised that Crosshairs could pull that off. Considering it was an almost direct attempt at harming someone. “You're more capable than you realize, my friend. Now, I've a surprise for you.”

Drift straighted up, gesturing for Crosshairs to follow him as he headed towards the exit. They'd been training together for weeks. It was about time they stepped it up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've pretty much this entire fic outlined in my head. The question now is if it's worth going through and writing it all to share, or nah.


	12. Armed

The last place Crosshairs was expecting to end up was the room they’d met Knock Out in. One of the first rooms they can ever properly recall being in. An optic ridge raising quizzically as azure optics dart around. 

Drift made a beeline for one of the tables located within the room, scooping up a relatively small piece of metal. Turning around with it in servo to excitedly display it to the paratrooper.

“It doesn't look like much right now,” The triplechanger spoke up after easily catching the lost look on Crosshairs’ facial features, “But it's a hidden blade. After it's connected summoning it would be as easy as transforming.”

“Ah blade?” Crosshairs echoed, padding forward to look at the odd thing. Taking it and looking it over when Drift offered it out to them.

“A  _ fancy _ blade,” Knock Out's familiar voice piped up from off to Crosshairs’ right, dragging both of their attention to him, “And since it's concealable you needn't worry about drawing more attention to yourself than you do already.”

Knock Out approached the pair, stopping once he'd reached them to prop his left servo to his hip— casually shifting his weight to one side as scarlet optics look over the deactivated weapon. Then he spoke up again, “Care to try it on?” 

“Wait, d’ya even know how ta install this?” Crosshairs hadn't figured Knock Out did much more than berate people and make them look pretty. The question earned them a soft scoff paired with an optic roll.

“It's pretty straightforward, really,” Came Knock Out's answer as he gestured for Crosshairs to sit and give him one of their arms, “Besides, your only other option is  _ Thread _ , and I wouldn't trust him to put a chip in a data port much less install a weapon.”

Crosshairs pulled a face— not needing much further convincing to sit down and hand over the object. Azure optics watching curiously as they then proceeded to offer up their left arm.

Taking Crosshairs’ arm in his claws, Knock Out turned it over to inspect it. Grinning a bit at what his inspection revealed, “Oh yes. This will be quick.”


	13. Armoury

Of course, it  _ wasn't  _ as easy as transforming. The blade was programed to be able to become whatever the user envisioned upon it. And Crosshairs was having a lot of trouble with getting the metal to materialize and take to a solid form.

So Megatron decided to take the paratrooper to the armoury located in the Pits— letting the door slide open as he gestured the paratrooper to enter.

“Take a gander,” Megatron urged, crimson optics casting about the wide variety of objects inside. Siverlining’s collection accessible to any gladiator that was willing to fight in his Pits. Any who have tried to steal from him have paid the price.

It was an impressive collection, varying in styles and how fancy they were. Some blades curved, others carved with Cybertronian, shaped handles…

The curved ones caught Crosshairs’ optic almost immediately. A servo reaching out to run along one of them, “Ah hadn’t realized there were so many different styles ta  _ just _ swords.”

“You've a lot to learn still,” Megatron offered, joining the paratrooper in the room as Drift stayed at the door peering in with his arms crossed. Golden optics fixated on the green mech instead of admiring the weaponry on display. “But that can be covered at a later time. Try again.”

Crosshairs paused, before nodding. Removing their servo from the designed blade to instead twist out their arm. Pointing it away from anything to avoid accidents as they focused on the image in their processor.

Slowly, silver metal slid it's way out of the sort of inbuilt handle— intertwining intricately as the liquid-esque mass slowly formed a sort of blade. Then it slowly solidified.

“Not too bad,” Drift's voice being right next to Crosshairs caught them off guard— but for the first time their break in concentration didn't cause the blade to crumple and retreat, “You'll get the hang of it eventually. And when that time comes, you'll be able to do much more than summon some bland blade.”

Megatron offered a sound of agreement, something akin to a growl, before speaking up himself, “Quite magnificent technology,” Crimson optics flick to the smaller gladiator in the room. It had to have been expensive.

“I know some people,” Drift offered, not at all missing the curiosity in the look Megatron was giving him, “It's experimental, not released to the public quite yet. And with it's capabilities chances are it won't be.”

“Wot it is,” Crosshairs butted in, azure optics finally looking to the other two mechs as a grin spread it's way across the paratrooper’s face, “Is  _ wicked _ .”


	14. Offer

“I want to take you out to somewhere more special today,” Megatron suddenly spoke up in the shared space in the bare and plain apartment— drawing the attention from the paratrooper who'd sat across from him squinting at pictures on a datapad.

Crosshairs’ helm tilted slowly, azure optics fixating on the large gladiator before them. A curious hum escaping the paratrooper as they finally sat forward— a grin of excitement slowly painting it's way across their facial plating. “Really? Out in th’ daylight?”

Megatron paused, but couldn't help but admire the happy look upon the smaller mech’s features, before he spoke up again, “Yes. Although I invited Drift along to keep us from drawing too much attention.”

The words almost immediately caused Crosshairs to deflate, leading to Megatron's optic ridges furrowing before he spoke up again to ask a question, “I thought you liked Drift?”

“He's cool,” Crosshairs gave a shrug, optics looking down to the datapad as they started to fiddle with it now, “Ah was jus’ kinda… hopin’ it'd be us two, ‘s all. But if ya think it'd be better wit’ him along.”

“Infinitely,” Megatron supplied, watching the paratrooper as a frown formed across his own face, “Crystal City is swarming with nobles who would just love to cause issues.”

“Crystal City?” Crosshairs echoed, optics flicking back up in renewed interest, “Ah heard it's beautiful. Uh, from somewhere…”

Megatron gave a nod, offering a soft grin as he pushed up to his pedes, gesturing for Crosshairs to do the same, “Drift should be here soon. But I'll tell you what.”

Slowly, Crosshairs set down the datapad they'd been snooping through before shoving themselves off the rather large sofa to thump to their own pedes. Helm quirking as an optic ridge raised, “Yer gonna turn him away?”

“No,” Megatron practically chided, rolling his optics with a helm shake and chuckle, turning and walking towards the door, “Next time we go out, it'll be just us two. And we'll leave Kaon and explore wherever you wish; within reason.”

Crosshairs gave another hum, almost as if giving the offer a thorough thought, before the paratrooper raced up next to the larger mech as he opened the door, “ _ Deal _ .”


	15. Attempt

Crosshairs had been watching Megatron and Drift's fights— Deadlock, whatever it was he preferred out there— intently on the tiny screens offered for as long as they could remember. Imagining just how much more exhilarating it'd be to see it from the stands. Amongst the cheering fans. It's almost as if they could feel the energy even from the other side of the screen.

It was only a matter of time before they both were pitted against each other, and Crosshairs wasn't sure how to feel when they heard about that line up. Two fan favourites with extremely different fighting styles, going head to head?

Well, that's something even Crosshairs wanted to see in  _ person _ . Azure optics flicking towards the door that would lead to where the main halls were— where all the people who paid to get in got to mingle and work their way towards their seats. One battle, then slip back here again. It shouldn't leave much room for any conflict, right? Especially considering who the combatants were.

Slowly, Crosshairs worked up their confidence and slipped through the door. Hearing the soft click echo behind them even as the mass of Cybertronians on the other side making bets and cracking jokes tried to drown it all out. There were so many people here…

But that was  _ perfect,  _ as Crosshairs was able to slip through the clustered groups easily and work their way towards the stands. Going with the flow as everyone else was heading back for the big event. The paratrooper's azure optics cast around the offered seats before they instead make their way off to the side. Standing in the back would keep them out of the way the most. And, Crosshairs couldn't help but note with a wrinkle of their nose, where any other paratroopers ended up.

It was only a few minutes before everyone had settled down and the lights in the stands dimmed. The battlefield down below soon being pooled with light to display two familiar frames. Megatron and Deadlock. Two warriors that didn't even  _ need _ introduction.

The crowd roared.

And the fight commenced.

Deadlock gave a fancy flourish of one of his blades, sending the other whistling through the air only to be bat effortlessly out of the air by Megatron's own blade. A loud growl leaving the larger gladiator as he rushed the red mech. Swinging and hitting only air as Deadlock ducked away.

Words were exchanged— something inaudible, at least from where Crosshairs stood— and Megatron whirled around and lashed out yet again. This time the blade clashed with Deadlock’s own, sending the smaller mech stumbling back and darting off again. Much to Megatron’s annoyance.

Deadlock made a beeline for his earlier thrown sword, scooping it up just in time to turn around and cross both blades to keep the silver gladiator’s sharp blade from smashing straight into his helm.

The crowd was cheering, gasping, and thoroughly enjoying the show. Crosshairs? Not so much. Weight shifting from pede to pede as the fight seemed to escalate to the point it seemed they were trying to kill each other, not merely win the fight.

Crosshairs wasn't sure how they'd handle that.

Deadlock had slipped away again, and managed to get a large gash into Megatron’s leg as he went, drawing an enraged roar from the mechanical being. Energon splattering on the ground due to how deep the wound was.

Though the tables turned when Deadlock dashed right back in and Megatron swung his sword hard enough to smack the right blade right out of the red mech’s servo. Hard enough the arm was immediately clutched as Deadlock backed off yet again.

“Stop running,” Megatron’s growl was loud enough this time Crosshairs heard it. The rage in it only further made them antsy, “Fight me head on.”

Deadlock shook out his injured arm, twirling his left blade in a show of skill before launching right back in again— only to be backhanded by the flat of the blade and sent smack into the wall of the arena.

Again, the crowed cheered. Crosshairs leaned forwards, trying their best to see if Drift was still alright. But gave up when Megatron started to approach the downed mech. Facemask unlocking and pulling away to allow his adversary to see the dark smirk that donned his face.

Megatron lowered his blade, and from the TV situated over the arena Crosshairs caught that he used it to tilt Deadlock's helm up before Megatron spoke up again with a rumble, “Forfeit?”

A shot rang out. Surprise overcoming Megatron’s facial plating as the sword slowly lowered, a large servo clamping over his chest as he looked down. Only to remove it to see Energon.

Megatron's sword quickly found itself slammed into the ground as the large mech used it for support, Deadlock shakenly finding his way to his pedes and vaulting over the barrier of the arena and vanishing from view.

The next thing Crosshairs knew they were in front of Megatron, having raced down the second their processor had caught what had happened. Servos reaching up to try and help, even as some of Silverlining’s security arrived to help escort Megatron out of the arena.

For once, the crowd was silent.


	16. Threat

It wasn't too long after being shot that Megatron had lost consciousness— the shot had almost took out the gladiator’s Spark, the doctors said. And they had to work fast because whatever the bullet was covered in caused fast corrosion.

The second they finished and had Megatron stabilized enough to let Crosshairs in, they where by his side. Optic ridges furrowed, a heavy frown on their facial plating. It'd all happened so fast, they were  _ still _ trying to process what had happened.

It couldn't have been Drift that shot Megatron, despite how guilty fleeing the scene made him look. Unless Crosshairs was wrong about the mech. But then who could have done it? Weapons weren't allowed in, especially  **_guns_ ** .

It took a few days before Megatron finally stirred, and Crosshairs had refused to leave his side at any point. Not only was it dangerous for their frametype to walk the streets alone, but they couldn't stand being in the empty apartment unaware of Megatron's condition.

And refused to sleep, because they were certain they'd had nightmares— not that their constant worry didn't keep them awake, pacing the room in the early hours of the mornings to keep their joints from locking up.

Three days in, they couldn't help but to crash. Slumped forwards with their helm rested against Megatron's arm, his servo securely fastened in the paratrooper's smaller one as best as they could hold it. And that's how Megatron finally came to, crimson optics blinking open and confusion painting it's way across the silver mech's features at the feeling of something light and warm leaning against him. Vision showing a blurry green blob until after a few blinks and a system reset.

“Crosshairs…” Ah. That made sense, his voice low so as not to startle the sleeping mech. They looked disheveled. Were they injured too?

Slowly, Megatron reached up— tapping a talon to the paratrooper's face. Allowing it to drag down without causing harm, crimson optics watching as azure ones blink to life with as much confusion as Megatron's had.

“... yer awake,” Crosshairs grunted lowly, pushing back and into a proper seated position— claws still clutched around two of Megatron's digits and giving a squeeze, “How ya feelin’? Jus’ wot th’ absolute frag happened out there?”

“You were in the stands,” Megatron mused, before catching the paratrooper's questions, “I'm fine, worry not. Where's Drift? Did he catch the guy he was after?”

“Th’ guy that shot ya? He saw who did it?” Well, that was good to know. Debunked him for sure as the culprit.

“I do believe so,” Megatron then moved to sit up, hissing lowly in pain and prompting Crosshairs onto their pedes. Both the paratrooper's servos planting themselves firmly over Megatron's chest.

“Easy, Megs,” Crosshairs urged, before their voice dropped, “Ye almost died out there. They said somethin’ ‘bout the bullet being covered in corrosives?”

Megatron locked optics with Crosshairs, keeping a level gaze before finally relenting— laying back down on the berth he was on. Before nearly shooting right back up as the door to the room clicked open and two Cybertronians barged in.

“I'm so sorry Megatron I tried to tell him to wait but he wouldn't listen—,” The mech in the back apologized, being shrugged off by the other Cybertronian they were trying to hold back.

Megatron sat back up, waving a servo through the air to silence the medic, “No worries, you may go Lifeline.”

The small medic nodded, shooting the white and black mech that had barged in a nasty glare before bolting off. The door shut behind the medic, and left just three in the room.

“I was hoping Deadlock  _ wouldn't _ get you involved,” Megatron spoke up, leveling the mech before him with a faint glare. It was obvious they were an Enforcer by their paint scheme.

“An attempted assassination, and you're going to complain when actual law enforcement gets involved?” The mech countered, matching Megatron's glare without fear, before glancing to Crosshairs. Then promptly ignoring him, “We've got the guy. Managed to get  _ some _ information from him before he activated a code to overload his circuits. One of the security guards was paid off to smuggle in the weapon that was used.”

Again, the dual set of different colored optics flick to Crosshairs, before the Enforcer continued, “It seems you're now perceived as a threat to the way things are, parading around with a freed slave. I'd watch your back, if I were you.”


	17. Protect

Now that Megatron wasn't at risk of dying at any given moment, Crosshairs was finally able to relax. Not that they did by much. If what Barricade said was true, then there was a possibility there could be another attack. And it was likely all because of  _ Crosshairs. _

Despite others urging Crosshairs leave now, since Megatron was stable and just needed lots of rest to recover, the paratrooper didn't budge. And Megatron backed them up, after ensuring staying really was what they'd wanted. It was probably for the best since people were starting to learn just who Crosshairs was— and with the attack on a gladiator inside the gladiatorial pits being such a bold move, the idea of snatching up the lone paratrooper when they were alone was child's play to whoever felt threatened.

Neither of them wanted to risk it.

Though not even a day in Megatron had urged that Crosshairs they get out and mingle with the other gladiators as they somewhat had before all this; at the very least that they continue their training with Drift. He noticed they'd been getting fidgety and stressed, and a small sparring session could help ease their mind for awhile.

It was because of that, a new routine was set in place— Crosshairs left to fetch them both Energon instead of having it brought in, which was probably safer anyways (what's the chances someone would try and lace it with poison..?), spending the beginning of the day with Megatron as Lifeline checked him over and answered any questions Crosshairs couldn't help but ask. After the check up, Crosshairs would go and spar with Drift. Sometimes they caught sight of Barricade, and it reminded them just how much danger they put Megatron in.

Eventually, they'd return back to the room Megatron was holed up in, and curled up in the corner with a data pad. Though they couldn't read or write, they were able to at least look at pictures to get an idea of what Cybertron looked like all around. And Megatron didn't mind helping them navigate if they had issues. Even beginning to help them recognize glyphs— doing his best to help the paratrooper learn to read.

It was late one night when the routine was interrupted. The door slowly opening as a mech entered into the dimmed room— instantly jolting Crosshairs awake due to his presence, their azure optics squinting across the room at the intruder. This couldn't be good.

Sitting up, the paratrooper cleared their vocoder, almost laughing when the mech nearly jumped out of his armour at the unexpected sound and spun around to locate who'd caused it. Too jumpy to mean anything good.

“Can Ah help ya?” Crosshairs drawled, leaning forward and propping their elbow to the arm of their large chair— making sure they were loud enough to cause Megatron to stir, “Yer not welcome in here.”

“I was just,” the mech began, glancing back over to the awakening gladiator, “Checking in is all. I didn't know he had someone watching over him.”

Crosshairs could have snorted at how blatant that lie was, especially considering the bladed weapon the mech tried to hide behind him. Who did this guy think he was kidding? Slowly standing up, Crosshairs stretched their servos over their helm— committing the other's features to memory before they answered him, “Yah, Ah'm here t’ make sure the big guy is alright.”

The intruder seemed to regain their bearings after giving Crosshairs a once over. Even grinned a bit in relief when they realized just who the other Cybertronian was. Only looking away momentarily once another stranger made his way into the room as well.

“ _ Seriously? _ ” the newcomer grumbled, before stopping when he made eye contact with Megatron, then followed his partner’s gaze to Crosshairs. But he didn't seem as fazed. Instead, he grinned. “Heh, hey lookie what we have here.  _ Both _ of them. What are you wanting for? Paratroopers can't hurt other Cybertronians.”

Crosshairs’ armour bristled, as they circled around to place themself between the intruders and Megatron. Ignoring the low growl Megatron gave them as he sat up. “Crosshairs…”

The paratrooper laughed, half glancing back towards the silver gladiator and waving him back a bit, “Dun’ stress yer self, Megs. Ah got this.”

With a low grunt, Megatron leaned back to prop himself against the wall, watching the two intruders closely now. There wasn't much he could do himself anyways, not without pain and potentially collapsing. Even sitting up still hurt, but he kept the pain from showing on his face. Glaring down the fidgeting mechs that dared try and finish him while he's down.

“Tell y’all what,” Crosshairs started, regaining everyone's attention as the paratrooper waved their left servo through the air, casually summoning out a semi-fancy curved blade with a grin, “Ya leave now an’ ya can save yerself from embarrassment.”

The first mech who had entered took a small step back, before his partner punched his arm with a scoff, “They can't  _ hurt _ us, idiot. Let's just kill them  _ both _ .”

The smaller mech pulled out an axe, letting the blades flick out and lock into place with a grin. Thumping his elbow to his partner in encouragement, the mech then lurched forward. Only for their optics to widen in surprise when his strike was redirected before Crosshairs grabbed his arm, whirling around and redirecting his momentum to send him stumbling right into the bewildered larger mech.

“... you gonna help or what?” The smaller mech snapped at his partner who was steadying him, smacking away the supportive servos to whirl back around and jab his axe towards the paratrooper, “Just move. Don't be a hero.”

“Ah ain't bein’ ah hero, jus’ bein’ selfish.” Crosshairs cracked a grin, watching as the larger mech finally brandished their sword, “What. No guns? Finally decide ta play by the rules?”

“One lost  _ slave _ and a gladiator with both pedes in the Well hardly call for a gun.” The smaller mech snapped back, signaling for his partner to move in. Both of the intruders approaching the now slightly crouched paratrooper slowly.

Then the larger mech struck out, his sword colliding with Crosshairs’ with a loud  **_clash_ ** , the force enough to make Crosshairs take a few steps back to keep their balance. Gaining a grunt of irritation from the mech that glared down at them.

But unfortunately Crosshairs didn't have long to be satisfied since there were two threats. With a leap back, Crosshairs freed up their blade, whirling around to hook it onto the lamp nearby Megatron's berth to send it crashing harshly against the more bold intruder to keep them from going after Megatron while Crosshairs was distracted. When he made eye contact with Crosshairs again, he was very obviously livid, optics bright and full of hatred as he yanked a gun out of his subspace, leveling it with Crosshairs’ helm.

The paratrooper froze, blade fluctuating as if in anticipation of sinking into the threatening mech before Crosshairs. None of them realized Megatron had leaned forward until the smaller intruder’s helm was suddenly crumpled underneath the gladiator’s large servo— Energon splattering on the ground.

Crosshairs didn't hesitate to turn back to the remaining threat as they placed themselves between him and Megatron on the off chance he had a gun as well. But instead of staying to fight, the mech took a few steps back before bolting.

There wasn't much time to feel relieved over the situation, instead Crosshairs immediately raced back to Megatron’s side. Reaching out to gently rest a servo against the hunched over mech.

“Ya idiot…” Crosshairs chided, “Ah was tryin’ ta help ya.”

Despite the pain lacing Megatron’s systems from moving, the gladiator couldn't help a small, pained laugh. “And you did.”


	18. Free

“I hear you're free to leave whenever you wish.” Drift had slipped his way in after a fight, colouring still crimson and  Deadlock mask still locked into place. He'd obviously just gotten out of a fight, Energon still smearing his frame in some places.

Megatron perked up at the words, peering over the data pad he was going over with the paratrooper who was seated comfortably next to him, “I could have left whenever I pleased.”

“...  _ Right _ .” Even with the mask in place, it was clear to see Drift had rolled his optics— the golden light shifting from the act before the triplechanger edged in further, pulling out a data pad of his own and holding out to Megatron, “ **Regardless** ... I finally managed to get that thing we talked about.”

Megatron smoothly took the offered out data pad, looking over it curiously— his surprise prompting Crosshairs to finally speak up, squinting in an attempt to read it over, “Whatcha got?”

“It's proper papers,” Megatron supplied, looking up to Drift, “And they'll work?” 

“Barricade made sure of it,” Drift confirmed— Crosshairs mused he was probably grinning under that intimidating mask.

“Perfect…” Megatron's grin, however, was wide and in clear view, drawing Crosshairs’ attention to the Gladiator.

“... what kinda papers are these?” Crosshairs pressed, reaching out and taking the data pad when Megatron willingly handed it over, “Ya seem really happy.”

There was a short silence as both the other mecha gave each other a look, then Drift broke it with an answer, “Every—…  _ Paratrooper _ , comes with papers to say they were…”

“Obtained legally. And who their owner was.” Megatron jumped in, leaning over and pointing across the data pad as he had been doing with the other one prior, “This says that as of right now you're…  _ mine _ . But we're about to change that.”

Crosshairs stiffened, immediately figuring Megatron had given up since they'd gotten him shot and nearly killed. He was going to give them away, wasn't he—…

“Ah'm sorry, Ah could try stayin’ more undercover or—”

“Shh,” Megatron laughed softly, patting Crosshairs on the back, “I'm signing you off to yourself. Are you ready to be officially free, Crosshairs?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, a new chapter? YEP. I'M SURPRISED TOO. Anyways! There's still so much more to this I've just been busy and distracted with other concepts and ideas. But I'm still planning on continuing!


End file.
